Daemona was overlooking the supplies, making sure every one of their precious cannons and elephants was transported up on the great war galleys of the pirate fleets without incidents.
Alongside them were almost 10 000 men who were marching up on other decks all across the massive harbor.
Everywhere their men marched, the golden flag of the Golden Company flew proudly, alongside the black dragon, and another, more macabre sight.
A bunch of golden skulls, hoisted high like a banner.
All of those were her relatives. Blackfyres and one bittersteel.
All of them had dreamed of going home.
From Aegor Bittersteel to Maelys Blackfyre, the commanders of the Golden Company had to a man, been longing for the shores of Westeros.
Just like Viserys had so longed for it, so did her father desperately hunger for the Iron Throne.
And just like that Canon time period, the one responsible for their true homecoming would be a young, teenage girl.
Not that she cared much about those parallels at the moment.
No, at that moment, all she cared about, was focusing on the mission at hand.
She had to focus on something right now, else she would be forced to focus on the gutted wreck of a city behind her.
And if she did that, she might lose it.
Daemona hated Tom the Spotted Butcher.
She hated him, his son, and his entire company.
She hated them all, for what they had done here. Not for gain, not as part of some grander plan, or anything else. But instead, just because they could.
And more than anything, she hated herself, and her father, for being a part of it.
In that moment, she understood Eddard Stark's furious hatred for Tywin Lannister in a way that she never could ever have imagined.
She remembered his recounting of the completely avoidable sack of King's landing by the golden lion. She remembered how he struggled to describe it… Men, women, children… A sea of rape, death, and butchery.
All because of a monster in the skin of a man doing it because he could.
It was revolting.
And what was more revolting, was that she was a part of it all.
She had been the major force that had allowed these armies to crush the disputed lands in such an astonishingly fast time.
If they succeeded, no matter what their ultimate goals, the blood of thousands more would be on her hands.
She… She had to make all of this, all of this bloodshed matter.
As she desperately tried to not feel the judging stare of dead children and butchered women at her back, she came to a decision, there on the docks of Tyroshi Landing.
She had to make this world a better one.
She couldn't simply think that she might usher in a better age once this was all over.
The world she ushered in with guns and cannons, HAD to be better than this.
They were gonna break the chains right? Slavery was on it's way out, and they would make Westeros a more stable, stronger nation, with actual infrastructure.
What scared her at that moment, however, was not the horrors behind her.
No, what scared her the most, was that to actually change anything in this brutal, bloody world, where children were sacrificed to R'hllor on a daily basis, and the Dothraki roamed the great grass sea, there would be many, many more sights like this.
Mayhaps she would not have to see sight AS brutal, and horrible as the streets of Tyroshi landing, where Tom's men mounted children on spears, just because, but she would see many, many more people die before this was all over.
God knows how many people were gonna die in the coming war with Westeros.
How many thousands of soldiers would the Targs throw at them in a desperate attempt to cling to power in an age that had just left their medieval levies behind? Would they manage to escape to Essos, making them all doomed to dance this dance again?
How many men would be killed while the scions of old Valyria played the game of thrones?
And most importantly, would all of this be worth it?
"Blackfyre!"
She stiffened at the sound, but she recognized the voice.
"Ah… Here comes the Apple Lord." Manderly said cheerfully."
"I would rather you call me the Apple King, Ser Northman. I have little interest in being a mere lord after all."
"How did the talks go, your Grace?"
She did not turn around, but she forced her voice to be respectful, as she continued counting the massive elephants trotting on board before her.
Derrick Fossaway and the rest of the Nine had been secluded away in a tent alone for the rest of the day, making final preparations for the assault on Tyrosh, and the follow-up lightning campaign that would follow.
Which had left her and the rest of the seconds in command to take charge and do the actual work.
Which was just as well, as she REALLY didn't want to see either her father nor Tom at the moment.
"Eh, just fine and well. It's really setting in for them that we are about to achieve all our hopes and dreams. I think it's the silvertongue. That man can make anything sound a thousandfold more appealing than it is."
"You don't sound as enthusiastic, as you make the rest appear."
"Oh, I am. I just don't have anything else to fall back on. Unlike the rest of you, if I die here, that's it. I have no sons to carry on my legacy, and only the Gods know what my own men will do if we can't pull this off."
"... Fair enough."
"Cheer up up man! You're about to become a king!" Manderly interjected enthusiastically. "Now is not the time to be second-guessing yourself."
"I'll celebrate when I actually sit on the Archon's Throne within the black walls. Not to mention I need to father a son, else this entire endeavor goes to pieces. Best scenario, the silvertongue inherits my kingdom through my wife. Worst scenario, my bloody kin inherits the thing."
She could feel the bile and anger pour into his voice as his family was brought up.
A bit of silence followed, other than scribbling from Daemona's board until she finally asked a question she had been wondering about.
"Why Volantis?"
"What's wrong with Volantis? It's bloody big."
"It's also the only nation that is guaranteed to be at war when this is all over. The rest of our band might not give a damn about the Rhoyne, but I can assure you, that Qohor, and Norvos will. You will be spending the rest of your life in conflict with the two of them. Not to mention that if there is any of the cities that's well past it's prime, it's Volantis. Yet, you chose it, rather than, Qohor, Lorath, Norvos, or God help me, Braavos."
The man stepped up beside Manderly, taking a look at the elephants that were still making their trek up the incredibly large and thick gangplank.
"Tell me Daemona Blackfyre… Are you familiar with the story of Garth the tenth Gardner, the Greybeard?"
She blinked, then turned to look at him.
"That's…" She tried to remember reading about the guy on tv tropes. "Wasn't he the guy who grew old and senile without a son of his own, then died as the dornish sacked highgarden? They… Yeah, I remember now, he was the one they found tied to his bed and covered in his own shit."
Derrick nodded.
"The one and only. The Greybeard managed to lose control over the reach, as Manderly and Peake both tried to take control over the kingdom through the daughters of his that had married into their families."
"Treacherous cunts." Manderly snorted.
Fossaway continued as if he hadn't heard him.
"The reach had reached it's nadir. It's capital burned and sacked, the entire realm destroyed by warfare, the Oakenseat, made by the greenhand himself, chopped to pieces and used as kindling by the raiding dornishmen. Many thought that the end times of the kingdom had come upon them. That house gardener, and the country they had made over the millennia, had reached it's end."
"But… The gardeners died out on the field of fire. Millenia afterwards."
"Exactly. The reach had hit it's nadir. But it did not collapse, as the weak and ephemeral kingdom of the rivers and hills had long before it. Instead, it clawed it's way back from the brink, and rose, higher, better, faster, and stronger than it had ever done before. And all it took, was a competent leader. To answer your question young Blackfyre… I chose Volantis because while all the rest of you saw nothing more than a nation well past it's prime, I saw a nation that just needs… A firm hand, to get back to glory."
She nodded slowly.
He was an odd man this Derrick Fossaway. Amongst the nine, he was easily the one that stood out the most.
Like the silvertongue, he did not command either a large army, or navy, but unlike silvertongue, he hadn't been the one who brought them together. He was simply a filthy rich merchant and knight, with a few hundred cavalrymen to his name.
His role in this campaign was to finance everyone. Just like the silvertongue.
"But… We have gotten sidetracked. The reason I came to talk to you, is to inform you that your father has received a visitor. From Westeros."
"Blackfyre sympathizers?"
"Something along those lines. The "man" in question, is a lad from the Reach. The Arbor to be more specific. There is some talk of marrying you off, in exchange for the largest navy in Westeros. I… Just felt I should do you the courtesy of informing you of it."
For a moment she just stood there.
The thought… Really didn't hit her at the moment. It should, she had worried a lot about who her father would marry her off to if anyone.
It was hard to truly consider the full implications of it all. The faint cries of children in the background were a very harsh distraction.
The way the cry suddenly cut off even more so.
It was Manderly who spoke first.
"Why would the Redwynes suddenly want to turn black? They have never supported our cause. They didn't raise their sails or swords for Daemon the first, Nor Haegon, nor Daemon the third. Why would he turn his coat now, when almost all the rest have abandoned us?"
Fossaway shrugged.
"Who knows? Maybe they simply see an opportunity. Or Mayhaps they have realized the red cause is doomed, and have decided to jump ship, pun intended."
She considered.
If she wanted to have a say, one way or another, she would need to find her father. And that meant going back into the city. The city of dead children.
She would have to face the condemning eyes of widows and orphans, and broken men.
People SHE had gotten killed.
They would have died anyway, another part of her mind said.
This city fell in the original timeline too, without cannons to batter it's walls.
There was nothing that would have saved these people.
That did not make her feel better.
"So… What are you gonna do lass?" Brynden Mudd asked her softly.
It took her a moment before she realized she had just stood there, thinking for… Probably a while.
She made her decision.
"Manderly, you take over for me with the counting. Brynden, you're with me."
"He should still be at the tent Blackfyre." Fossaway helpfully told her as she handed the board to Manderly, then began to stride into the city of horror and death.
I
"Well… You've got Balls I'll give you that."
The giant, still seated, was still just a bit taller than him.
"Thank you, your Grace."
The two-headed man snorted.
"Not many bastards would dare seek an audience with a king to ask his daughter's hand in marriage, boy. Either way, I shall… Consider your proposal."
Roxton felt his heart jump inside his chest before the giant continued.
"Of course, I would be a poor, poor host, if I didn't tell you that you might just be assassinated once I air this idea with my men. Quite a lot of them would much rather I marry my heir off to one of their sons instead. They will probably not find your proposal very… agreeable."
There was a very blatant case of sadism in the way he said it, but Roxton didn't back down.
"As you say, your grace. But I knew full well coming here involved a great deal of danger."
"Yes… The egg king chopping your family's heads off being the most obvious… Anyhow, I shall consider your offer. For now, go get back to your ship. Also, I would recommend sleeping on deck from now on. And not in armor. You might very well find yourself needing to swim tonight."
He nodded. This man took way too much pleasure in the way he warned him about assassination.
It was kinda hard to read Maelys the Monstrous.
On one hand, he didn't seem particularly against the idea Roxton had brought forward, but on the other hand, he really didn't seem to care whether his men actually did assassinate Roxton.
If he was a more subtle man, Roxton might have assumed that he was playing a personal game with him, just for his own amusement, but he very much doubted that to be the case.
If he had read the man right, Maelys Blackfyre was not the kind of man who danced around when he wanted someone dead.
He was the sort of man who just broke your neck with his bare hands instead.
The tent flap opened and all men in the room, Roxton, his unarmed squires, Maelys, who was sharpening his black blade, Maelys' own golden clad guards, turned to look at who had just entered.
He knew immediately who she was.
There were many shades of the silver-gold of old Valyria, but the girl in front of him did not have a sliver of gold in it, instead, her long, curly mane was a silver so light that it almost seemed white.
That was relatively rare. But it was the exact same shade as Maelys had.
And so were her purple eyes as well.
Daemona Blackfyre was an ethereal beauty, but he had seen enough Valyrian women in his life to be able to compare her to and give an honest comparison.
She was pretty enough, but frankly, she was still years away from blooming into a true beauty.
Admitting, her choice of dressing in a full plate armor hid whatever development her body may have gone through.
The only things not covered by it, was her rather narrow, yet girly face, her long, curly mane of silver-white hair, and her height because, by the stranger, this girl was tall for a 15-year-old.
True, she was much shorter than her father, but she was a full head higher than he was.
Her large, purple eyes looked down on him, largely in surprise.
Before he managed to introduce himself, Maelys spoke up.
"Ah, Daemona, perfect timing. This is Ser Roxton Flowers of The Redwynes fleet. Son of Denys Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor. He has come here, seeking your hand."
He gave his most winning smile. This was it, quite possibly the most important moment of all, after meeting and giving the proposal to Maelys himself.
"Wait, you're the son of Denys Redwyne? That would make Olenna Tyrrell your aunt right?"
Okay, that… Didn't quite go the way he had expected it to go.
"Yes, she is indeed, your grace."
He wasn't sure what he had expected from her, but the weary look her surprised face shifted into was not it.
Damnation! Why did aunt Olenna worry her so? This proposal had nothing to do with her anyway.
The girl crossed her plate-covered arms across her chest as she looked down on him, that weary expression still covering her face.
"And what exactly do you have to offer our cause Ser? And why would your father wish to turn his coat when the Redwynes have never backed the Black Dragon in all our 50 years of existence?"
